


i will give you me

by zadderlee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (it's probably best not to get used to that), (of course it's a tag it's a known fact), Fluff, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Tsukishima Kei is a Dork, Valentine's Day, and funnily enough for me No Angst, featuring your hosts: Tsukishima 'Obvious' Kei and Yamaguchi 'Oblivious' Tadashi, i just love the tsukishima family so much, say good bye to your favourite molar, the misadventures of aki and kei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zadderlee/pseuds/zadderlee
Summary: Yamaguchi gets a clue, and some chocolate – but not necessarily in that order.





	1. give

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late Valentine's Day! Oh boy, where the fuck did this come from? Allow me to share with you my thought process:
> 
> Me: Oh man oh man, it's Valentine's Day. I was thinking that writing something for it would be good, but it's too late now. Darn  
> Me @ me: How about this tho  
> Me: Well fuck
> 
> Cut to me writing literally all evening and tHEN deciding one chapter wasn't enough because apparently I love to Suffer. When I finished this it was still technically Valentine's Day in some time-zones, so that will do imo. 
> 
> A ginormous thank you to [vesloth](http://www.vesloth.tumblr.com/) for help with brainstorming/turning this into something coherent as always!! Dunno what I'd do without you man. Part the second should be out very, very soon - keep an eye out for that, and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts! I'd love to hear them ^^ (Hitting me up on [tumblr](http://www.zadderlee.tumblr.com/) is also highly encouraged if that's your thing!)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!  
> ~zadd
> 
> P.S. If you see any mistakes, hopefully I'll get to them soon!  
> [Title taken from 'Our Song' by The xx]

There are a number of things Kei is good at – school work, for one. Blocking, producing a sarcastic comment and/or quip for any occasion, and keeping his room tidy for a few more. He’s good at taking pictures of bugs or birds before they fly away, good at keeping track of the stars and planets, good at remembering the names of dinosaurs. He’s also good at making lists, good at following those lists, good at balling up and throwing said lists if Akiteru makes fun of him for making lists. The list goes on.

But one thing he’d _never_ claim to be good at is _baking_. Several times in his life, Kei had correctly measured out ingredients and watched the seemingly promising mixture go into the oven, only for it to come out looking like something not of this earth. He’d accepted his lack of skill (eventually, after one too many burnt, lopsided strawberry shortcakes), reasoning that it wasn't really something he'd need in his life – he could leave it to Akiteru to satisfy his sweet tooth.

But then something happened that challenged this notion. Or rather, something _didn’t happen._

In middle school, when Valentine’s Day rolled around, Kei was surprised to find his arms full of confections that supposedly _meant_ something - something more than _you're in my class and you're okay I guess._  Suddenly, February 14th went from a day of hassle-free candy to an uncomfortable time for everyone involved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the gifts that he’d received. It was that he was being given things by people that didn’t bother to speak to him for the rest of the year. It was that even though he didn’t accept any of the confessions he received, he still ended up carrying the stuff they’d given him home. But most of all, it was that he didn’t really feel right about eating people’s gifts that represented their feelings when he didn’t return them. So he usually ended up leaving them for his mother and brother to pick through, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling he got when he threw the unwanted ones in the trash.

Yamaguchi, however, seemed enamoured with Valentine’s Day. He offered earnest thanks for every piece of obligation chocolate, ate every one with care (even the ones that weren’t his favourites), and relished giving something in return on White Day. When Kei asked him about it, perplexed, he said something about just enjoying the atmosphere of it, the thought that’s put into even the smallest of gestures, but that just confused Kei even more. Yes, the girls smiled genuinely as they stopped off at Yamaguchi's desk, and yes, he got his fair share, but he didn’t get girls giggling and stuttering like Kei did. And Kei just didn’t understand it. If _he_ got things, why not Yamaguchi? Yamaguchi, with his gentle hands and warm eyes, always quick to praise, to laugh at Kei’s jokes even if they weren’t his best. Yamaguchi, who would give you space when you needed it, would chatter until you felt ready to join him if you didn’t; who would always have your back without question. Yamaguchi, who should have been positively _buried_ under a mountain of heart-shaped junk.

The more he thought about it, the _injustice_ of what transpired, the more mad he got.  _They’re stupid_ , he wanted to say, when the following February brought more of the same.  _They have extremely poor taste_ , he wanted to insist, over more giggling, more stuttering. _They have no idea what they’re missing, who they’re overlooking. You deserve so much more than this. I could give you fifty Valentine’s and it still wouldn’t be enough._

It took him until the third year of middle school to realise that those weren’t the kind of thoughts you’d typically have about a friend.

It took him until the first year of high school to decide that he was going to do something about it, even if the thought of giving something to Yamaguchi _himself_ made him break out in a cold sweat. And if he was going to do it, he was going to do it _right._

Except if he can’t handle baking, what makes him think he can handle _making chocolate?_

“Kei, are you all right? You’ve been sat there without moving for five minutes and it’s starting to freak me out.” Akiteru’s home for spring break, and while any other time that would make Kei pleased in a quiet sort of way, right now it’s the penultimate straw (the _last_ one being his own stupidity for starting his research in the living room – though, since the last time he looked at recipes he’d closed the tab as soon as he saw the words _stir constantly_ , he needs all the time he’s got left).

“Just imagine I’m not here, nii-san,” Kei says, dry even in the midst of panic.

“Like I’m going to do _that._ I haven’t been home in _months,_ so quality time with my little brother is in order.”

“One,” Kei starts, hiding the quirk of his mouth behind his screen, “that’s literally not true, and two, I’m busy with something. Something important.”

“Okay, so a month and half! That’s still a long time!” Akiteru comes and – _ugh_ – flops down beside him on the couch; Kei quickly minimises the window. “What are you doing that’s so important anyway? Can I help?”

“ _Something_ , and no, you cannot.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

“Really? You’re sure that whatever was making you scowl like someone just told you _evolution is a theory_ is something you can do by yourself?”

“Yes,” Kei says, but he’s less certain than he was before. On the one hand, Akiteru will be _insufferable the entire time_ if he asks for help. On the other hand, if he doesn’t ask for help, he’ll either end up with a) nothing, or b) something so heinous he’ll _wish_ he’d ended up with nothing. Neither option is acceptable.

“Well then, if you’re sure,” Akiteru says, getting up with an exaggerated shrug. Kei catches his sleeve.

“I...guess you could help.”

“You’re entirely too easy to read, Kei. All right, hit me with it.”

Kei maximises the window with a sigh.

 

\---

 

“Kei, I swear– You’re hand-making chocolates, it’s not _possible_ to overdo it. Put on your big boy pants and get the heart-shaped moulds.” Standing in front of a Valentine’s display in the ( _packed_ ) shop Akiteru recommended, listening to his brother loudly contradict his every suggestion, two things are obvious. The first: he was right, Akiteru is insufferable _._ The second: he was also right about how _fucked_ he’d be if Akiteru wasn’t here.

With the recipe he’d found (still with that ominous _stir constantly_ ; now with the added intimidation of _raw cacao powder_ ) loaded on his phone, he’d dragged them through the supermarket, leaving shredded coconut and candy sprinkles in his wake, then to a shop half-hidden down a side-street for the priciest cacao powder that could possibly _exist_ (“But why did we buy that other cacao powder?” “So you can _practise first_ , dumb dumb.”) and finally here, to the craft store near the station. He’s understood approximately six things since they started – including “So, we’ll need to catch the train home at three,” and “Kei, are you sure you’re all right? You’re sweating. A lot,” – and the thought of doing this by himself is making him extremely grateful to be yelled at. Sort of.

“If you insist,” he mutters, watching the moulds disappear into Akiteru’s Mysterious Basket. He’d argued, but the idea is compelling in its own way, not that he’d ever admit it lest Akiteru get _ideas_ – he’s already had to steer them away from a chocolate plaque mould the size of his face.

“I _do._ Anyway, now that that’s settled, we need to find a box to put them in, and a tag.”

“A tag? Because nothing says _anonymous_ like a name-tag.”

“I’m accepting that you’re a big baby who’s not giving them to him in person, but you’re writing a thoughtful message on a tag or so help me. Here, these ones are nice,” he says, putting a package of tags into The Basket; at this point, Kei can’t find it within himself to protest further. “Now, the size of the box depends on how many chocolates you’re actually going to make.”

“Fifteen.”

“ _Nine_ is plenty. Okay, there’s this one, or maybe–”

“This one,” Kei interrupts. “This is it.”  _This_ is one thing he isn’t budging on. The box isn’t too small, but it isn’t too big either – just the right size to make sure the chocolates won’t get damaged, especially since he’s going to have to carry it in his bag. It’s a tasteful navy blue, not searingly bright like most of the others. But the thing that really makes it stand out is the tiny dots of silver foil carefully placed across its surface, like a scattering of stars.

“Okay, for once I agree with you.” Akiteru ruffles his hair, smiling that smile that always makes him want to smile back, even if he’s tired or sick or a victim of _hair ruffling_ – the Magic Big Brother smile that makes him feel ten years old and hopeful again. He lowers his voice when he continues. “I’m sure he’ll love it, Kei. He’ll be able to see all the thought that went into it.” Then he claps him on the back, and the spell is– not broken exactly, but Kei is suddenly aware of all the people crowding around him, the brightness of the fluorescent lights pressing against his eyelids. “Right, let’s go check out before you sweat through your shirt.”

 

\---

 

“I’d say that I can’t _believe_ that you aren’t letting me help you, but I really, really can.”

“You’re supervising – that counts.”

“And _you’re_ an idiot. A big, sentimental idiot. A sweet one, I’ll grant you, but an idiot nonetheless. It’s not as if there’s any way he’d be able to tell that someone helped you make them. Other than, you know, the fact they’re _edible._ ”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

“So you’ve said. Listen, Kei, are you sure you’re all right?” Akiteru asks for the millionth time.

“Yep,” he says, wiping chocolate off his cheek (or just smearing it around – same difference).

“Kei, you started at five. You’re on batch number four, it’s eight o’clock, and you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

“I ate some of the chocolates when I was testing them.”

“The most balanced of meals. C’mon Kei, take a break. Collect yourself.”

Kei looks down at the bowl in front of him. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I think batch number four is a bust anyway – it’s grainy.”

“Batch number four, we hardly knew you. All right, you sit down and I’ll heat up some left-overs.”

“What is it?”

“Hot pot.”

“Mmph.”

“I’ll take that as a _sure, I am excited to put this in my mouth._ ”

“Mmph,” Kei repeats, sinking into the chair across from Akiteru’s. The clinking of spoon on dish as Akiteru portions out the hot pot fills the ensuing silence, swiftly followed by the comforting buzz of the microwave.

“You really like him, huh?” Akiteru says after a moment, leaning against the counter, and Kei sputters before getting a hold of himself.

“Yeah,” he says thickly. “And I have three burns and a stress headache to prove it.”

“I mean,” Akiteru continues, ignoring him. “That was obvious from the inception of this whole scheme – heck, probably a lot earlier than that if I really sat down and thought about it – but now it’s extra double obvious.” His voice is a soft, undeniable truth. “How long?”

“How long have I liked him?”

“No, how long is a piece of string.”

“Shut up,” Kei says without heat, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “When did I realise? Last year or so. When did I actually _start_ liking him? Who knows.”

“I’d say a year isn’t the half of it. You’re different around him, you know. You always have been.”

“How?”

“Gosh,” Akiteru says, more breath than word. The microwave beeps. “It’s little things, I guess. Your posture is looser, your face isn’t all screwed up like it is when you’re thinking. You just seem...more comfortable. Yeah, that’s what it is. Like when he’s there, you can relax.” With that, he puts a spoon in the bowl and the bowl on the table, nudging it towards him. “There, eat. That should make you feel a bit more human.”

“Thanks for the food,” he murmurs, and Akiteru nods, sitting across from him again.

There’s another partial silence, disrupted as he chews, as Akiteru types out a text. Slowly, the contents of the bowl disappear; Kei thinks it’s probably the placebo effect at work, but with each mouthful, he feels just a smidgen more awake. So there’s really no excuse, other than _it’s the truth,_ for what slips out of his mouth. “I think maybe I’ve always liked him.”

Akiteru doesn’t respond. Kei thinks, for a precious few seconds, that he’s gotten away with it, that he said it quietly enough for Akiteru not to hear. But then Akiteru finishes his text, gives his phone a final tap, and looks up at him. On his face is Akiteru’s _other_ smile, the smile that makes Kei want to kick him in the shin under the table (he doesn’t, but only because Akiteru got him food). “What would you say if I told you I recorded that for posterity?”

“I’d say you’re a filthy liar,” he mumbles, pushing aside his bowl and burying his head in his arms.

“I didn’t, but man do I wish I had.” Kei can’t see him, but he just knows _that_ smile is widening. “It’d have been a nice touch to your wedding video.”

Kei’s head snaps up, his cheeks feeling suspiciously hot. He opens his mouth, closes it again. “I’m leaving the chocolates anonymously,” is what he finally comes up with.

Akiteru laughs, vivid in the low light over the table. “You’re still stuck on that part then, I see. Kei, you’re the dumbest smart person I know.”

“Well you’re–”

“–going to clean up my kitchen soon, I hope.”

“Uh…”

Their mother crosses the room in a few quick strides, taking Kei’s bowl and planting a kiss on his forehead in one fluid motion. “How long has it been now? Four days?” She puts the bowl in the sink, then gets out another to heat her own leftovers in. _Fuck._

“Kei’s got a bit more work ahead of him before he’s done, mom.”

“A bit? All right, I know ‘we’re using the kitchen all evening to make chocolate’ is plenty descriptive – near novel length – but I think I’m going to need a bit more. Who,” she intones, casting her eyes over the chocolate graveyard on the counter, “is all this for?”

“T–”

“The volleyball team,” Kei interjects, and regrets it as soon as the words leave his lips. He briefly considers drowning himself in batch number four, but he’s gone too far to give up now; chocolates first, drowning later.

“The volleyball team?”

“Yep.” _Might as well commit now._

“The same team you said were ‘like a bunch of five-year-olds with really strong arms’?”

“I said _most of them_ , but yes...Those guys.”

At this, Akiteru and their mother share a _look_. It’s the sort of look they’d share when Kei would push the last of his vegetables onto a napkin in his lap and pretend he’d cleared his plate – a look that says _just let him think you believed it,_   _it’s easier._

“Right.” The microwave beeps.

“Sit down mom, I could use some help _supervising_ batch number five.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Kei gets up to inspect batch number four (not to escape the combined scrutiny of his mother and brother – of course not). “Fifth time’s the charm,” Kei says through gritted teeth.

 

\---

 

“They’re beautiful,” Akiteru whispers, gazing at the chocolates nestled in the box with all the affection of a newly minted uncle.

“I think my arms are going to fall off.”

“ _Stirring constantly_ can do that to a person.”

“I'm serious, I’ve got pins and needles.”

“I’m proud of you, Kei. He’s going to be _so happy_ to get these, I know he is.” Akiteru ruffles his hair, and Kei swats at him weakly. “Now go to bed - I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“But it’s only...ten o’clock. Huh.”

“Go to _bed._ ”

 

\---

 

Despite being unbelievably tired when his head hit the pillow, Kei didn’t sleep very well – he was too nervous. Most of today has been spent running through the list of pros and cons of giving Yamaguchi batch number seven (pro: Yamaguchi getting the chocolate he deserves; con: _shit shit shit it’s almost time, shit_ ).

He knows the chocolates look (and taste) as good as he could possibly make them, and they’re dark chocolate, which Yamaguchi has professed his love for (loudly and frequently). He _knows_ Yamaguchi will like them, will like the box they came in. But clearly he’s beyond rational thought at this stage.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi asks softly. They’re walking to practice after their last class, and Yamaguchi’s profile is awash with the golden light of the afternoon.“You’re a little pale.” Kei’s not sure whether it’s the tiredness or that he acknowledged his feelings so openly yesterday, but the sight, the sound, has something cosy blooming within him, like leaning against a radiator and feeling warmth seep into his bones. The feeling is not a foreign one, but the intensity of it steals his breath.

“I’m okay,” he says, a few beats too late for it to seem genuine. But, he finds, as he says it, it’s true. The thought of giving Yamaguchi something he made for him with his own hands makes Kei feel brittle, makes the little box in his bag feel like a heavy weight. Though, at the same time, he can’t wait until tomorrow. He can’t wait to see the look on Yamaguchi’s face, to know he’s the cause of it even if Yamaguchi won’t. He can’t wait to make Yamaguchi happy, in this way and so many more. ' _Big sentimental idiot’ probably isn’t too far off._

“Oh,” Kei says as the club room comes into view, checking his pockets as if he’s just remembered something. “I think I’ve left something in the classroom. You go ahead.”

“Aw, that’s annoying. Sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“I’m sure, I won’t be long.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Daichi-san and Suga-san where you are.”

“Thanks.”

Yamaguchi starts walking again, still gilded, glowing, and Kei finds it hard to look away. But he does – he has to – and when he reaches the classroom, clutching the box with hands that shake just a little, he imagines that resplendent figure turning to look back at him, squinting into the light and smiling. That image is what finally pushes him to tuck the box into Yamaguchi’s desk. After all, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Akiteru  
> Chrome: Teriyaki  
> Me:  
> Me: Same


	2. receive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD - 'very, very soon' my ABSOLUTE ARSE. I'm so sorry about that - blame uni, my garbagebrain, and the fact that this turned out waaaaay longer than I intended it to be. Like, 4k longer. At least there's that? I guess? [claps half-heartedly] 
> 
> This has become sort of a passion project for me, and while it was [coughs] interesting to do a two-[cOUGHS] three-shot as opposed to a multi-chap Hell Fic, I'm so glad to be able to put it out into the world. If you're here on the goodwill of fimi, thank you so much; after my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad exams are over, please look out for more of that, and more from me in general hopefully! With that said, I hope you guys enjoy these final instalments!
> 
> ~zadd [(tumblr)](http://www.zadderlee.tumblr.com/)

Tadashi finds it in the middle of class.

He’s tired because he ate too much at lunch, and he’s annoyed because his favourite pen has just run out of ink, meaning he has to use one of the crummy spare ones he always intends to replace but never does. He’s tired, and annoyed, rummaging around the shelf under his desk, when his fingers brush against the box.

It takes him by surprise – the glossy cardboard is an odd texture, and since it’s the last thing he’s expecting to find in there, it takes a moment for him to process it. It’s the afternoon, he’s already worked his way through most of his obligation chocolate (even the white chocolate, which is a lie wrapped in shiny paper at the best of times), and for all intents and purposes, Valentine’s Day is _over_. And yet here it is, in all its _absolutely-not-a-pen_ glory.

He doesn’t think anyone noticed his initial (bug-eyed) reaction, so since the lesson is over in half an hour and he _really_ can’t wait that long, he’s just going to have to risk opening it now.

 _It’s so pretty_ is his first thought, nudging it out a bit so the silver foil on the box’s surface catches the light. _Is this really for me?_ is his second. But – _yep_ – a look at the tag confirms that it really is.

_For Yamaguchi Tadashi,_

_From someone who thinks you’re sweet._

_Well._ That sure is... _corny._ Lovely, but corny nonetheless. The handwriting (slanted and a little spiky – perhaps to disguise it?) is a tad smaller on the second line than it is on the first, like the Mystery Person got self-conscious; the idea that they _knew_ it was corny and wrote it anyway has him covering up a smile with his hand.

It’s then he realises that sitting here grinning like an idiot isn’t going to help him be inconspicuous (how no one has noticed already is beyond him) so he reaches past the box for one of his crummy pens and starts taking notes – or tries to, anyway. He _looks_ like he’s taking notes ( _the writer frequently mentions herons in his work,_ he scrawls, then snorts softly _, which serve as a metaphor for how much he really, really likes herons_ ). That lasts about four minutes, and really, all things considered, he’s quite proud he held out for so long.

He keeps writing with his right hand, but with his left, he gently pulls at the ribbon tied around the box. It’s thick and luxurious, a deep blue-black shade that reminds him of winter nights, and he can’t help but wonder how Mystery Person felt when they added this finishing touch, looping the velvety material over and around itself. Were they nervous? Pleased? He’s some combination of the two when the ribbon comes loose, when he winds it up and tucks it into his pocket for safekeeping.

Tadashi hopes that if they were nervous, they weren’t _too_ nervous – though, the idea of someone fretting over giving _him_ a gift is sort of blowing his mind right now. He’d have loved it anyway, regardless of what it looked like or what it contained ( _jeez,_ he hasn’t even considered that part yet). He’d have loved it regardless of _who_ gave it to him too, and he wishes he could tell them that, wishes he could thank them in person. They obviously weren’t comfortable revealing themselves to him, but that doesn’t matter. Because it’s clear that whoever they were, they considered every part of it carefully; his cheeks feel warm at just the thought of it.

He finds himself holding his breath as he finally eases off the lid, slumping down in his chair just a little to get a better look at the contents, and–

Oh.  _Oh._

If he was pink before, surely he’s bright red now. Inflamed, burning, quite possibly on fire right in the middle of a listless classroom. He ducks his head in a rather pathetic attempt to hide as he picks up the pen he’d fumbled and dropped. He hopes his truly ridiculous luck holds until the end of the period – he doesn’t see how he’s going to calm down any time soon.

Because _they’re homemade._ The chocolates in a cute little box, the chocolates for _him_ , are _homemade._ They’re his favourite dark chocolate, they have cute little wobbly _drizzles_ on them and _for the sake of all that is good and just,_ they are _heart shaped. Heart. Shaped._ His very first proper Valentine has quite possibly ruined him for all future Valentine’s, and to top it all off he has _no idea who they are._

He knows who he’d like the chocolates to be from, who his dumb crush ( _oh please,_ _there’s no point lying to yourself in your own head_ ) conjured up the moment he found the box. He knows who he’s imagining standing over a bowl melted chocolate, glasses fogging up from the heat, apron tied in a bow at his waist.

Tadashi also knows that’s pure fantasy, most likely unhealthy in regards to (eventually) quashing his dumb more-than-a-crush, and also utterly unfair to whoever did give him the gift. The last thing he wants to do is treat someone’s hard work as his own exercise in wish fulfilment, so he tries his best to drive the thought from his mind.

There are only a few people that his Valentine could plausibly come from. There’s two girls in his class that are pretty nice to him, Minami and Ueno, but they’re also a) pretty nice to everyone, and b) the type that would probably give him a gift outright if they wanted to, so he rules them out.

Then there’s Yachi, who likes the idea of Valentine’s Day as much as he does, but she already gave him a cat-shaped cookie (that she made with Shimizu of all people) earlier. That, and the fact that she quite obviously likes her fellow manager (and if the way Shimizu smiled when Yachi asked her for help is any indicator, she feels the same way) rules her out too.

That only leaves the mousy, nervous guy who often asks to see his Chemistry homework even though he always does well on tests. Though, Tadashi would more readily chalk that up to the guy being paranoid over any warm, chocolatey feelings he may possess. And just like that, Tadashi's fresh out of ideas, but he can’t stop his mind from wandering.

It’s not like he was planning on doing anything even if he did figure out who they were from – he wouldn’t want to put them on the spot like that. Still, it would have been nice to know who would be thoughtful enough to come up with something like this, who cares about him enough to go to all this trouble.

Right now, however, all he can say for sure is that writing about some guy’s obsession with predatory wading birds is a terrible distraction from his thoughts.

 

\---

 

What makes an excellent distraction, however, is Tsukki. Tadashi knows that from experience, knows that the minute changes in his expression (the key to figuring out his mood) can be fascinating, especially as a contrast to his words.

And it’s no different today. He’d sounded even-toned as usual before lunch, but his eyes had lit up almost imperceptibly ( _a_ _lmost_ being the key word) when he mentioned the documentary he found that he saved for them to watch together today, if he was free (Tadashi was, but he often finds he is for Tsukki), and his mouth curved up slightly, softly, when he mentioned that his brother was home. When girls came up to them to give him chocolate, blushing prettily, he was composed, though he frowned just a bit when they left – his way of showing that he didn’t feel good about any part of the situation, about their rosy but indistinct feelings.

That was all normal, expected. But that was Tsukki when he knew he was being observed – Tsukki when he was making an attempt at normalcy, despite how easily Tadashi could read him. On the walk to school, when he probably thought Tadashi was caught up in describing his neighbour’s new cat, he’d furrowed his brow, stuffed his hands in his pockets. During lunch, he seemed to be more focused on messing up his bento than eating it, which, considering his mother’s cooking, was rather alarming.

And now, sitting backwards in the chair in front of Tsukki’s desk, the box in his lap, Tadashi is certain that something is up.

“So you like it then?” Tsukki asks, not looking up from whatever he’s scribbling. “The gift from…Mystery Person, did you call them?”

“I love it. It’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever received. But seriously, Tsukki, are you sure you’re not coming down with something? You look pretty flushed. Have you had enough to drink?”

“I’m fine, Yamaguchi,” he tells his notebook. “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

“What are you writing anyway? There’s no homework due next period, and anyway, it’s not like you to need to finish anything at the last minute.”

“It’s okay. I just got a bit…distracted. I’m finishing the last question.”

That isn’t like him either, and Tadashi is about to tell him so – forcefully, with his best wagging finger – when the bell sounds, and their classmates start getting back into their seats.

 _You can’t fool me, Tsukishima Kei._ “If you’re sure,” Tadashi says, standing up. Tsukishima glances at the box in his hand, opens his mouth as if to say something, then blinks, closes it. Looks back at his notes.

_This isn’t over._

 

\---

 

“Are you doing okay, Tsukishima?” Suga asks, in the middle of everyone getting changed to go home, and Tadashi's concerns are at once vindicated and increased by someone else sharing them.

Tsukki looks up from untying his sneakers to give Suga a blank look. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because you seemed distracted during practice.”

Daichi appears at Suga’s elbow, frowning. “It can be dangerous if you’re not alert when the ball is coming in your direction. We wouldn’t want something to happen.”

“Yeah!” Tanaka chimes in, yelling from the other side of the room. “We have enough with _this one_ repeatedly getting hit in the face.” He gives Hinata a rather forceful noogie, and Hinata squawks, nearly overbalancing in the midst of his efforts to take off his sock.

“Hey! That hasn’t happened in ages!”

“It happened last week, dumbass,” Kageyama points out.

“ _Kageyama!_ ”

“What? Do you want me to remember a different version of what happened that doesn’t include you being dumb?”

“Yes!” Hinata retorts, gesturing forcefully without realising he’s still gripping his balled-up sock; it bounces harmlessly off Kageyama’s forehead. Hinata gives his offending hand a look of horror.

“Hey, that was a pretty good shot,” Tanaka muses. “I give that a solid 8.5 out of 10.”

Tadashi's distracted from Kageyama’s irate reply (and probable attempt on Hinata’s life) by Tsukki’s snort. He shifts his gaze back over, and Tsukki’s pulling his shirt over his head to reveal his smirking face.

“Hey, knock it off!” Suga calls, to little effect; apparently the window for ending this reasonably has been passed at break-neck speed.

“Thanks for your concern,” Tsukki drawls, “but I think the idiot twins over there should probably be what you’re focusing on right now.”

“I’m on it,” Daichi says, resigned, like a dad whose turn it is to get up and deal with his crying infant sons. No one’s crying, but Hinata is using Nishinoya as a human shield – or, more likely, Nishinoya volunteered himself as back-up – and Kageyama’s dishing out some elementary-grade insults like he’s briefly forgotten swearing is a thing, so it’s not too far off. Daichi claps Suga on the shoulder before squaring his own and striding over to them.

Suga sighs in a way that manages to sound affectionate. “What a handful.”

“It must be hard now that they’re teething,” says Tsukki, under his breath, and Tadashi laughs, glad he wasn’t the only one with that train of thought. Tsukki’s expression softens just a little, which in turn makes something in Tadashi go liquid and gooey; there really is no way to prepare oneself for that.

“I’m fine,” Tsukki repeats, presumably for Suga’s benefit, but he doesn’t look away from Tadashi. “Really.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Suga still sounds sceptical, but not like he’s going to push it any further. “Lecturing _you_ on the importance of focus and thinking your actions through would be pretty silly, so I’ll just say to take care, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Tsukki says again, minus the previous snark; Suga could wring sincerity out of a rock if he tried.

“No problem,” he assures, smile a little weary, and leaves it at that. Suga walks past them to get to his stuff, and when Tsukki bends down to put on his shoes, Tadashi feels compelled to catch Suga’s arm.

“I’ll take care of him _–_ _it,_ ” murmurs Tadashi, low and a little embarrassed in Suga’s ear, and Suga’s smile perks up.

“I know you will,” he replies, just as low, and the certainty in his voice makes Tadashi smile back.

          

\---

 

“I’m home,” Tsukki says, tugging his front door shut and dropping his bag unceremoniously at his feet (he sets the chocolate bag down with more care, Tadashi notes with a twinge of fondness).

“Sorry for the intrusion,” Tadashi says as he drops his own bag. There’s a comforting familiarity to these actions, to their long-established routines. As per usual, they slip off their shoes, Tsukki nudging them into alignment with his socked foot. As per usual, Tadashi stoops down to neaten Tsukki’s neatening, and Tsukki huffs that _it’ll do_ , _Yamaguchi_ , and helps him up. And as per usual, the patter of Akiteru’s footsteps can be heard on the stairs before they’ve even left the entryway. Tsukki never announces their arrival loudly, but when Akiteru’s home, he always bounds over to greet them like a golden retriever regardless.

“Welcome home! Tadashi, it’s so good to see you!” He ruffles Tadashi's hair, and it makes him laugh just like it did when he was ten. “Have you grown? I feel like you’ve grown – you’re a better ruffling height now for sure.”

“For – hopefully – the last time, you’ve been gone for a month and a bit, nii-san, not ten years.” Tsukki raises an eyebrow at the no-doubt alarming way Tadashi's hair is sticking up. “And Yamaguchi's not a dog.”

“Nope!” Akiteru says brightly, unphased. “But he _is_ fluffy!” Akiteru ruffles his hair again, but this time seemingly with the goal of flattening it down. “There.”

Tadashi beams. “It’s good to see you too. How were your exams?”

“Okay overall, I think. My brain didn’t melt out of my ears, anyway, and I’ll count that as a win. _Thank you_ for asking.” Akiteru gives his brother a pointed look, and– _yep_ , Tsukki isn’t spared from the Ruffle Kerfuffle either.

“Hey, I asked you!” he insists, shooting Akiteru a murderous glare. He raises his arm as if to sort out the mess on his head, but apparently gives it up as a lost cause.

“’Did you remember to write your name on it this time?’ is not asking me how it went, Kei.”

“I mean, I’d say remembering to put your name on your paper so you don’t have to yank it out of an elderly invigilator’s hands is a good indicator of overall performance.”

Tadashi splutters. “Did you really have to do that?”

Akiteru rolls his eyes. “I didn’t _yank it_. I calmly requested she hand it back so I could finish filling it in, and she did. _Anyway_ ,” Akiteru continues loudly, when Tsukki opens his mouth to comment, “how are you, Tadashi? Anything cool happen since I last saw you?”

“Well, if you consider me getting a Valentine cool, then yes, something cool happened,” he says, his grin belying his casual tone.

“Definitely!” Akiteru exclaims. “Let me see, let me see!” Tadashi pulls the box out of his bag, pleased to see that none of the corners are crumpled. “Woah, now _that’s_ a Valentine! Do you mind if I..?” Akiteru asks, hands hovering eagerly over it.

“Go ahead.”

Tadashi holds it out, and Akiteru takes it ever so gently, opening the lid and tucking it underneath the box. “Wow, they’re so pretty! Did they taste good?”

“Really, really good! I only had one, because I want to savour them, but one was enough to tell.”

“I’m so happy for you, Tadashi! So, who’s it from? Did you get a confession?”

“I don’t know; they didn’t sign the card.”

“Aw, that’s a…pity. You sure can tell they care about you a lot, though. Don’t you think so, Kei?”

“Yeah,” Tsukki says, soft, and when Tadashi turns to look at him, his expression is equally so. He glances over at Tadashi, then, and seems surprised to find him looking back.

“Tadashi?” Akiteru asks.

“Hmm?” Tadashi wrenches his gaze away from Tsukki before he embarrasses himself further, only to find Akiteru looking uncharacteristically serious. 

“If you could say something to the person who gave these to you, what would it be?” Tadashi can’t quite decode the look Tsukki gives Akiteru at that (mainly because he doesn’t think he’s ever _seen_ it before), but it doesn’t look promising. _What am I missing?_

“Oh wow, really?”

“Nii-san…”

“Please – humour me for a sec.” _The moment Tsukki and I are alone, I’m going to ask him straight out what the heck is going on._

“Well,” Tadashi begins, stilted. “I’d say thank you, of course, for the time and effort that went into something as special as this. I’d tell them that I really enjoyed their gift. And…uh, I guess I’d say that I understand that telling someone how you feel about them can be…scary, so I really don’t mind that they didn’t tell me who they are.” He pauses, suddenly overwhelmed. He really, _really_ understands – more than Mystery Person can probably realise.

“That’s–”

Tadashi keeps going, and Akiteru falls abruptly silent. “I’d also tell them that I’ll treasure it, that I’ll treasure their feelings, even if I can’t return them in the way they’d like. That this will always mean a lot to me, and that…no matter how many more I may get in the future, I’ll never forget my first Valentine.” Akiteru stares at him, mouth open in a comical little O. “Oh, is that too cheesy? Because the person who gave me this wrote something _really_ cheesy on the tag, and really, it’s only fair that I return the favour, so–”

“I don’t think it’s cheesy,” Tsukki cuts in (and Tadashi's glad, because he’s not sure where he was going with that).

“Wow.” Akiteru looks at him helplessly, like Tadashi is holding something delicate and doesn’t quite understand how easily he could shatter it. “I really wish that there was a way for you to tell them that.”

Tadashi sighs; he suddenly feels tired, and not just because the adrenaline from practice is fading. Not just in his muscles, his body. “Me too.”

They stand there for a moment, still inexplicably in the entryway, and even though he wasn’t planning on sharing those thoughts, even though it was a bit embarrassing, he’s glad he did. He’s glad that he managed to borrow just a little of Mystery Person’s bravery, even if his words can never reach them.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says thickly, like he’s only just woken up.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yamaguchi, there’s…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Tadashi says; his voice sounds strange too.

“I–”

“–am not sure why you’re all still stood by the door.”

“Mom!” Akiteru exclaims, eyes wide, clutching at his chest as if he’s trying to shove his lurching heart back in. Never let it be said that Tsukishima Ryo doesn’t have excellent timing. “Mom, you’re here now! That’s…great…” _Seriously, what’s with him? With both of them?_

“Well, since dinner’s almost ready, I came to see what was so interesting about the entryway.” She smiles warmly at Tadashi, and just like her sons’, it’s infectious; he finds himself smiling back despite the weird atmosphere. “Lovely to see you, Tadashi! In a stroke of good fortune, I’ve made that udon you like.”

“That sounds great, thank you!”

“Sorry for keeping you guys,” Akiteru says, shuffling his feet. “Mom, did you need help setting the table or anything?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great.”

“Okay, I’ll just give this back to you, Tadashi, and you guys can–“

“Oh, what have you got there?”

“A Valentine! Tadashi’s! Isn’t it pretty?” Akiteru blurts out, followed by a weirdly nervous chuckle, before Tadashi can even open his mouth.

“Oh, of course! Kei, I didn’t know you’d chosen such a cute little box to put them in.”

Akiteru and Tsukki freeze. Or maybe they don’t – maybe reality itself is glitching, audio skipping over and over and over in Tadashi’s mind ( _Kei, didn’t know you’d chosen, cute little box, chosen, Kei, Kei_ , Kei) like he’s watching a scratched DVD. Like this is happening to someone else and he’s only observing. He feels slack, untethered; a kite with its string cut, drifting just beyond the clouds. The very blood coursing through Tadashi's veins seems to falter too, turning syrupy and slow with the weight of words he _absolutely_ must have heard wrong, must have misunderstood, before it starts rushing double-time to keep up with his jittering heart. She can’t have, she absolutely _can’t_ have just–

“ _Mom, you_ –” Akiteru sputters, the first of them to come online again. “I mean, what are you talking about?”

“I just didn’t know that the box Kei picked out was so pretty, is all. I was a little distracted by the detritus in the kitchen after all.”

“What are you talking about, seriously?”

Tadashi swallows the lump in his throat. He can feel the sweat from practising his serve, tacky on the back of his neck, can smell the scent of broth making its lazy way out from the kitchen. He can feel his pulse throbbing at his neck, his wrists.

And through it all, the phantom taste of chocolate on his tongue.

“Oh gosh, were you not going to tell him?” she asks, voice coloured with her dawning realisation.

“I don’t–” Akiteru starts, faltering. “He was about to–”

 _Don’t get ahead of yourself, don’t get ahead of yourself,_ a part of Tadashi insists, _it could still be…but that would explain why he was…but you’re not sure if he…you don’t_ know _whether…_ He doesn’t know. He can’t be sure. And still, _still_ , he can feel something bright ballooning up inside him, something effervescent and glittering and _too much._ Something he never, _never_ let himself feel.

Something like _hope._

“ _Tsukki_ –” Tadashi doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence; everything is suddenly a blur of motion, of sound. It takes him a moment to realise that Tsukki is tugging him up the stairs, away from the chaos. His hand is gentle around Tadashi's arm, clammy. Tadashi takes a shaky breath in, lets it escape in a rush, and follows him.

 

\---

 

Tadashi's still holding the box. Tadashi's sat on Tsukki’s bed, still holding the box, and Tsukki still hasn’t said a single word.

He’s slumped in his desk chair, head tilted back and eyes shut; Tadashi might think he’d spontaneously fallen asleep if not for the way he’s tapping his foot, fiddling with something in his pockets. Being so agitated in plain sight is a testament to how much this has rattled him. There are no subtle signs to look for here, no small movements; it’s all writ large for Tadashi to see. Tadashi, who feels a little like he’s been smacked upside the head, can relate. His hands won’t stop shaking. He places the closed box carefully on Tsukki’s duvet and curls them into fists. It doesn’t help.

It makes it worse, actually. The box looks so bright on Tsukki’s white duvet cover, and now he really can’t stop himself imagining Tsukki picking it out, thumbing at the silver foil (of course, _of course_ – no one would know what he likes more than Tsukki), imagining him in a chocolate-smeared apron with his glasses fogged up, because it _happened._ And no matter how this ends, that won’t stop being true. _Jeez._

He falls back onto Tsukki’s bed so he won’t have to look at it anymore, but all that means is that he’s looking at the dent above his head instead.

One of them inexplicably made it years ago, in the middle of one of the weird, intricate games they used to play (the more memorable of his roles in these included an astronaut, a Beetle Prince, and Dr. Ellie Sattler from Jurassic Park). They still argue about who was responsible for it, occasionally, and Tadashi loves seeing the fond exasperation that washes over Tsukki’s face whenever they do.

The room is full of similar blemishes – scuffs on the walls, the stain under the desk from the orange Ramune Tadashi spilled, pockmarks from posters that Tadashi helped pin up (and tear down), pencil marks on the door-frame amongst those chronicling Akiteru and Tsukki’s growth, showing Tadashi steadily catching up. He loves this room, loves all the remnants it contains of the time he’s spent with Tsukki.

Tadashi sits up, looks at the line of Tsukki’s throat, and feels so much he _aches_.

Tsukki’s still tapping, still fiddling in his pockets (has he even got anything in there?), still looking like he’s trying very, very hard to wink out of existence, so it appears it falls to Tadashi to speak first.

“Um…Tsukki…” Tsukki goes still at the sound of his voice, and Tadashi's not quite sure what to do with the sudden silence. Doesn’t know how best to fill it. So he does what he usually does when Tsukki is upset or frustrated or in need of a distraction: he just talks.

“Hey, so…uh…it’s pretty…mortifying that I said all that stuff about the Mystery Person in front of you when that person _was_ you, and I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable or anything, and that Akiteru and your mom…and I’m _really_ sorry it took me so long to find the chocolates – _jeez_ , no wonder you were off all day – and– and–“ Tadashi glances up, finds that Tsukki’s opened his eyes, is _looking at him_ , and trains his gaze on the box. Swallows. “And…and I meant everything I said about the chocolates. Everything, even though the part about your _feelings_ probably doesn’t apply…heh, but they really–”

“ _What?_ ”

Tadashi blinks. “What?”

“ _What_ did you just say?”

“That I…meant everything I said about the chocolates?”

“No, the part _after that_.”

“Uh…that the bit with your feelings…?”

“Yes, _that bit_. _What?_ ”

Tadashi looks at him, and Tsukki looks right back, face carefully blank. _You don’t know. You can’t be sure._ _You have to ask_ – “Well, you gave me…uh…platonic chocolate, right?”

The mask cracks; he sees Tsukki’s eyes scrunch shut, his lips curve, before Tsukki leans forward to cover his face with his hands ( _his ears are red,_ Tadashi notices, then can’t _stop noticing_ ). He lets out an incredulous sound, somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh.

“W–”

“Oh wow. _Wow._ ” Tsukki scrubs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way Akiteru could only dream of. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Tsukki–”

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says carefully, meeting his eyes for a taut moment before quickly looking away. “The chocolates were heart shaped.”

“Ah…” That was nothing – that was a _sound_ at best – but Tadashi still finds himself trailing off, unable to finish it. Because the red is _spreading_. It’s made it to Tsukki’s cheeks now, and Tadashi knows that it won’t stop, that it’ll keep going until it reaches his neck, his chest. Tsukki is _blushing_ because of _him._

“ _Heart shaped_.”

“I know, but…” Tadashi's voice is faint; he thinks it might be because of that glittering mass behind his ribs, expanding until there’s no room inside him for anything but it, anything but the reality of Tsukki’s red, red face right in front of him.

“But _what_ _?_ How many _platonic_ things do you know of that are _heart shaped?_ ”

Tadashi chokes on nothing; Tsukki throws him a water bottle ( _indirect kiss,_ insists a part of his brain that evidently has its priorities straight), and it takes three gulps and several deep breaths for him to get his spluttering under control. His hands still shake around the bottle, jostling its contents until ripples form on the water’s surface. He feels a bit like the water bottle; a bit like he’s stood at the epicentre of an earthquake, walls tumbling down around him to let in the daylight.

“Huh?” he finally manages, after a few more deep breaths.

“They weren’t platonic chocolates.” Tsukki’s neck is red, and Tadashi thinks he might die. “They weren’t platonic chocolates _at all_.”

“Oh,” Tadashi says, more sigh, more air wrenched from his lungs, than anything else. “ _Oh_.”

Tsukki puts his head in his hands again, letting out a muffled, horrified moan. “ _I just said that. I definitely just said that._ ”

“Say it again.” The words come out of Tadashi's mouth before he can think about them, but he finds he doesn’t want to take them back.

“What?”

“Say it again,” he says– _pleads_ , because he _needs_ to hear it again (and again and again and again) until the words feel real. It’s one thing to hope (one thing to stamp hope down over and over, unwilling to nurture it lest it grow big enough to take part of him with it when it’s inevitably ripped out, until he’s handed something as precious as this and he can’t stop it), but it’s another entirely to _believe_.

Something of that must be evident in his tone, because Tsukki mumbles into his hands without him having to ask again. “They weren’t platonic chocolates.”

The water bottle creaks a little in his grip. “How…how long?”

Tsukki makes a noise like a bicycle tire being punctured by a sharp rock. “I don’t even _know_. Probably three…” His voice trails off into a low murmur.

“Three…months?”

“No, _god_ , it’s more like four…”

“Four months?”

“’Months’,” Tsukki scoffs. “ _Months._ Try _years._ Four _years._ I have been utterly _gone_ for you for _four years._ ”

For a moment there’s nothing but silence. No tapping, no fiddling – nothing. Tsukki just stares at him, face a shade of red reminiscent of an enraged strawberry, and Tadashi can’t help it. It’s too much; far, far too much (it’s _everything_ ). He laughs.

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukki asks, dumbfounded, and it only makes Tadashi laugh harder. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because–” he begins, wheezing, “we’re so _dumb!_ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh my _god,_ we’re so _unbelievably dumb!_ We’re in a _college prep class_ and we’re _idiots!_ Who let that _happen?_ ”

“What are you–?”

“ _God._ ” Tadashi slides his hands up his face, pushing his bangs off his forehead. Where does he start? He could say any number of things, could word his feelings in any number of ways. He could say that _I think I fell in love in this room, somewhere between making up nonsensical games and testing each other with flashcards for our high school entrance exams; somewhere between telling stories by flashlight in the early hours and watching movies on your laptop with the covers pulled over our heads_.

He could say _I think I might have always been holding my hand out for you_ , that he _got so used to it drifting there in the space between us that I never even noticed that you took it._

He could say that _you make my heart feel so full that I wonder, sometimes, if that’s it, if there’s no way I could feel_ more. _But then you smile one of your careful little smiles and just like that, there’s more space. I want to keep making more room for you for a long, long time._

But there’s plenty of time for all that, he thinks – plenty of time he never even _dreamed_ he’d get. Plenty of time for him to make Tsukki go innumerable shades of red.

Instead, he says, “Me too, Tsukki.” He’s beaming, so wide it’s already hurting his cheeks, but he doesn’t think he can stop – doesn’t _want to_. “Me too.”

“Oh.” Tsukki snorts, and there it is – that smile Tadashi wants to put in his pocket for safekeeping. “ _Oh_.” Then he laughs, and in that moment Tadashi swears it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “We are _morons_.”

“We _really are._ Now for goodness sake, come _here,_ you big moron – it’s weird talking about feelings when you’re on the other side of the room.”

Tsukki snorts again, and Tadashi doesn’t know what to do with the joy fizzing through him. He figures it out, sort of, when Tsukki walks over to his bed, to Tadashi. Tsukki stops in front of him, lacing his fingers together like he’s done so many times, and there’s only really one course of action for Tadashi: he jumps up, flings his arms around Tsukki’s neck, and pulls him close.

“Yamaguchi–!”

“Shh, we’re having a moment,” Tadashi murmurs into the warm skin of his neck, and Tsukki huffs out a laugh.

“Apparently,” Tsukki says, unfairly close to the shell of Tadashi's ear. Tsukki shifts his arms, then, until they’re wrapped around Tadashi's waist, fingers laced together again at the small of his back; the warmth Tadashi feels radiating from that spot is frankly unreasonable.

“I mean, we've got a lot of lost time to make up for. Four years. _Four years_ , I can’t get over it. We could have been doing this for _four years._ ”

Tsukki hums, pressing his nose into Tadashi’s hair, and Tadashi chooses to take that as _you’re so right, Tadashi, and also you smell good._

“I mean,” Tadashi goes on, “it’s been a while since we even hugged. Jeez, wasn’t the last time–”

“Middle school graduation.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi says, just a bit dreamy. “I remember. We were the only ones in the classroom, and I was just stood there by my desk because it was hitting me that I wasn’t going to sit there again, and that it was the end of something. But also the beginning, too – that the two of us were moving on to new things together. And then, like you’d read my mind–”

“I hugged you.”

“You hugged me! I was so happy after that, you have no idea. When I got home, my mom ended up telling me that if I was going to be pacing in the hall, smiling like a loon, I might as well dust it while I’m at it. So thanks for that.”  

”Well,” Tsukki says, glossing over his teasing with the ease of practise (though the impact is lessened considerably by his blush, which does _not_ appear to be going away anytime soon). “That’s why I did it in the first place. Because you were happy, I mean, and sad. You were just…a lot, and I did it without thinking. I…” Tsukki rests his forehead on Tadashi’s, screwing his eyes shut. “I just…wanted to.”

“Oh.” Tadashi closes his eyes too, overwhelmed. Not the bad sort of overwhelmed, like the moment when you first turn over a test paper, or getting lost in a crowd. A good sort of overwhelmed, like being faced with a breathtaking view and not knowing where to look first. Tadashi opens his eyes again, and he thinks Tsukki’s fair eyelashes, the pale, delicate skin underneath them, are a good place to start. “Me too.”

“You sort of…froze, though. I thought you didn’t like it.”

The very idea of that has Tadashi wanting to kick his past self in the shin. “That’s…no. That’s the opposite of true. Utterly false. Very utterly false.”

“Well, yeah. I know that _now_.” Tsukki unclasps his hands and spreads them wide across Tadashi’s back to punctuate his statement, which, _uh._

Tadashi doesn’t flush very easily, but his cheeks feel a little warm for the second time today. “Surely you must have had _some_ idea of how I felt before now – I never was very good at hiding it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I mean, I’m 90% sure Suga-san knows.”

“He doesn’t count.”

“No, that’s true, bad example. Other people though, for sure. Daichi-san, Ennoshita-san, probably Shimizu-san too.”

“ _You_ weren’t the one who was being obvious though. When I was practising with Nekoma’s and Fukurodani’s captains last summer, they asked me if…” Tsukki pauses, like he’s only just realised what he’d need to divulge to prove his point.

“If what?”

“If…” Tsukki sighs; if Tsukki’s hands weren’t otherwise occupied, Tadashi is certain he’d be pinching his nose. “If having you…cheering me on would help with my blocking.”

Tadashi snorts, delighted. “Firstly, you mean _Bokuto-san_ and _Kuroo-san_ , right? Gosh, you big nerd. Secondly, _really_ _?_ They _said that?_ ”

“And the worst part is I don’t even think they were joking.”

“What did you do then?”

“Well…then, I asked them how they found out your given name, _then_ I told Hinata that it’s dangerous for someone of his age and stature to talk to strange men.”

“You did?” Tadashi laughs, gripping onto Tsukki’s shoulders as he sways forward.

“ _Anyway,_ the point is that _I_ was much more obvious than _you._ ”

“I still don’t know how that’s possible, _or_ why you didn’t say anything.”

“Why didn’t _you?_ ”

“Well _you’re_ the one who gave me _anonymous Valentine’s chocolate!_ ”

Tsukki adjusts his glasses – a nervous habit Tadashi hasn’t seen from him in a while – and looks away (not that it makes much of a difference when they’re so close). “Touché. I…suppose I just wanted you to have them? Even if you didn’t know they were from me?”

“Why, though? I loved them, obviously, but I’m not sure I get that.”

Tsukki flushes darker, and Tadashi pulls back just a little to see it better. “It’s…difficult to explain.”

“Yeah?”

“I guess…I wanted– I wanted to give you them because you…” He looks down at their socked feet and continues, voice quiet. “You deserve so much more than obligation chocolate, and I wasn’t sure whether you’d accept them if you knew they were from me.”

Tadashi blinks. “Are you _kidding?_ ”                

“What? No?”

“Okay, right. I think there’s something we need to clear up here.” Tadashi reaches up and cups Tsukki’s face in his hands, gently stroking the heated skin of his cheekbone, the soft skin behind his ear. He makes sure Tsukki’s looking at him, pupils wide, then promptly squishes his cheeks together. “Are you listening?”

“Mmph.”

“Good. Okay, so what you just said? Ridiculous. Absolutely the most ridiculous thing. Gosh, Tsukki, even if I didn’t absolutely _adore_ you, of _course_ I’d love to get chocolates from you, Valentine’s or otherwise! I’d love anything you gave me, because I care about you. I have feelings of the gooey, romantic variety for you, yes, but that’s not all _._ You’re also my best friend, and you always will be. And while we’re at it, _that’s_ why I didn’t say anything. Both because I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise our friendship, and because just _being with you_ is all I need. All right?”

“Mmph.”

Tadashi laughs, moving his hands until they’re bracketing Tsukki’s face. “All right?”

“All right,” Tsukki repeats stiffly. “I feel the same way, you know.”

“I know.” Tadashi grins, just a little slyly. “I’m telling you now, though. I really, _really_ like you.”

“I…know.”

“Aw, are you not going to say it again? Is it a once-per-day situation? Stingy!”

Tsukki gives him a flat look. “You’re impossible.”

“You like me, though.”

Tsukki sighs, put-upon, but he’s smiling one of his careful little smiles nonetheless. “Against my better judgement, yes.” His eyes are tender, soft – molten gold – and Tadashi is in so, _so_ much trouble. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I briefly changed 'Tsukki adjusts his glasses' to 'Tsukki adjusts his meganes' and laughed for like three minutes


	3. treasure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus from Tsukki's POV because 1) they totally didn't skip dinner in all the excitement, wtf, and 2) I'm extremely emo for explicit communication. Hope you enjoy!

Not long after all that, Akiteru had knocked (well, kicked repeatedly is more accurate) on Kei’s door, a tray laden with two steaming bowls in hand.

“Is mom mad we missed dinner?” Kei had asked as he took his bowl, cross-legged on his bed to balance it carefully on his knee. He was still blushing, he was _certain_ , and if it wasn’t for Yamaguchi repeatedly stroking his cheek just to feel it, he’d have buried his head under his duvet and possibly never come out again.

“Nah. In fact, she told me to tell you ‘you’re welcome’, and the look on her face was so terrifying that I didn’t ask her to elaborate. But she was right about it turning out well, wasn’t she?” Akiteru had no-doubt noted how close together they were sat, how their eyes were drawn to each other like magnets, and he grinned at them. _Head. Duvet. Never come out._

Kei hadn’t known what to say in response to that, so he didn’t say anything (in most cases, Akiteru managed to find the correct sentiment in his silence anyway). Yamaguchi had just smiled, so wide, so _sure_ , and it warmed Kei more thoroughly than the soup.

That was half an hour ago, and their empty dishes are stacked on his desk. He’s pretty worn out – both of them are – but he finds it’s not in an entirely unpleasant way (in part in _the most pleasant_ way, running through him sweetly, unhurriedly, like honey from a spoon). They’re arranged comfortably on his bed, the documentary he’s been saving is playing ( _–in the penultimate episode of this series, our focus shifts to insects–_ ), and all in all it’s a (mostly) typical scene.  

As usual, Yamaguchi ended up wearing something of his – pants rolled up at the bottom, sleeves pulled over his hands – and as usual Kei didn’t ( _doesn’t_ ) know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know how to squash down the feeling of _rightness_ that such a sight evokes. (As usual, Yamaguchi is more or less completely oblivious towards the crisis that the slightest glimpse of collarbone can send him into.)

As usual, Kei dug into his snack stash, and as usual, Yamaguchi didn't take even one strawberry Pocky when he offered him the box. Instead, he dived for the matcha ones, stuffing two in his mouth like a walrus and almost choking when Kei’s raised eyebrow made him laugh.

Not-so-usual, however, is their seating arrangement. Kei had sat down on the bed, laptop precariously balanced in one hand while he shifted to find the best spot, when Yamaguchi had sat between his legs.

“This okay?” he’d asked around a mouthful of Pocky, looking back at him with those dark, knowing eyes. And when Kei nodded, Yamaguchi had turned around, settling his back against Kei’s chest like it was something they did all the time ( _it_ _is now_ , he thinks). Like Kei wasn’t _combusting_ when he circled an arm around Yamaguchi, hooking his chin over his shoulder so he could see better.

Not-so-usual was the way Yamaguchi took his hand in both of his as they watched, lacing their fingers together. His hands were a little cold; it made Kei worried in a vague sort of way, made him hold on to Yamaguchi just a bit tighter, and it was the most oddly fascinating thing to feel his hands warm up, to make him more comfortable in this small way. Not so usual was the way Yamaguchi stroked his thumb ever so gently over the heel of Kei’s hand, back and forth, back and forth until the small stretch of skin seemed like the centre of the universe, the point at which everything ended and began.

The repetition of the motion has Kei falling into a sort-of trance, looking at the screen without absorbing any of it. Yamaguchi could turn off his laptop (and possibly hurl it out the window and into the night) and Kei most likely wouldn’t notice.

Which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when Yamaguchi speaks. “Hey, Tsukki?”

Kei gives himself a few moments to start breathing again, leaning heavily against the wall, and doesn’t bother pausing the documentary when he responds. “Hmm?”

“So I’ve been thinking…”

“What about?”

“That female water striders have to put up with a lot of crap, for one.”

Kei is helpless against the fondness that washes over him at that. “What else?”

“Well,” Yamaguchi begins, “I was thinking that you know I like you, and I know you like me…” Yamaguchi’s thumb is still stroking his hand, even more gently – it sort of tickles, sort of makes him want to throw something.

Yamaguchi inches forwards so that he can turn his body and look at him, showing a devastating flash of collarbone, of freckled shoulder, before Yamaguchi tugs the collar of his shirt ( _my shirt_ ) back into place. He smiles, and it’s similarly devastating.

Kei swallows. “Yeah…?”

“So, are we dating now?”

Kei’s brain screeches to a halt, sending reasoning – and some other things he might need later – right through the windshield. “Yama _guchi–”_

“Because I’d rather like to be. Would you like to? Date me, I mean.”

The weak glow from the screen is catching the underside of Yamaguchi’s jaw, the whites of his eyes, his smile. And it’s as bright and lovely as it always is, but Kei can see the slight nervous edge to it; he wants to scour it away, to make sure it _never_ comes back. “Yes,” he says thickly. “Yes.”

Yamaguchi leans in close, resting a hand on his thigh. “Boyfriends?”

 _Actual fucking hell._ “ _Yes._ ”

His words make Yamaguchi’s smile into something impossibly lovelier, big and goofy and _content_. His eyes crease, his nose scrunches, and Kei has absolutely no idea what to do with himself.

“Was that it?” Kei asks, voice choked. _Please_ don’t let there be any more – Kei is half convinced he’s going to have to get used to a permanently red face as it is.

“Yeah, that was it – sorry for interrupting!” Yamaguchi leans in just a little bit closer, just enough to – _fuck_ – peck him softly on the cheek, before turning around again, fitting neatly back into the warm spot he left behind. If Kei couldn’t just about see the pink flush on Yamaguchi’s ears, he might have thought he imagined the whole exchange.

Even if he could bring himself to focus – and how can he, when he’s full and tired and his boyfriend ( _boyfriend boyfriend_ _boyfriend_ ) _still_ hasn’t let go of his hand – the documentary has to be at least halfway over by now. Usually he’d apologise, ask if they could rewind it or start over, because watching something when he’s checked out tends to irritate him; he likes to follow along carefully, take in and digest each word. He might even suggest they call it a day and put on something mindless instead (“Sailor Moon isn’t mindless, Tsukki.” “But then why is Tuxedo Mask so terrible?” “…All right, I’ll give you that.”), something that doesn’t take too much energy to process.

But Kei doesn’t want to turn it off, or move, or change anything about this moment. Yamaguchi occasionally elbows him as he fidgets, his right arm is starting to fall asleep, and there’s an empty Pocky carton digging into his thigh, but even so, Kei can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [softly, with feeling] fuckin' nerds


End file.
